Chapter 14 #2
“For him, yeah. For us, too,” Carmen responds as the man lands another smack and the woman’s eyes water. “For her, I’m not sure.”
Charles nods to the bartender to bring us more drinks before shaking his head. “I’d argue she’s getting the most out of this.”
“How so?” She glances at Charles.
“She’s being liberated. Of doubts, guilt, expectations.” He lifts a glass to his lips. “And of course, she’ll be rewarded for it.”
It’s a lesson Charles taught me years ago, the first time I visited one of his clubs.
Sure enough, a loud wail escapes the woman after a particularly loud smack and the man drops the paddle, placing both of his palms on her ass and massaging roughly.
One hand snakes down to her slit, and she is so soaked that we can hear it as he slips his fingers in.
Her moans turn to breathy whimpers as tears still pour down her face, and in only a few seconds, she’s crying out her orgasm, her ass jerking up and down with spasms.
Blood rushes to my groin and I look away. Carmen stares at the scene in awe. Boy, does she have a world of fun in front of her.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my wits. “You pay them?”
Charles releases a chuckle. “I don’t. The dancers out front are hired. The shows here are put on by volunteers.”
“They do this for free?” The woman settles down, and the man strips her out of her dress.
“Don’t tell me you’re also underestimating the amount of pleasure they’re getting from this.”
“And if some were to ask you to pay them?”
“I’d do that in a heartbeat. I’m not forcing any of these people to do anything.
And that’s the beauty of Lace & Leather.
They’re free to do what they like. You’re free to do what you like.
” He clinks his glass to mine and gets up.
“Now, I have my own matters to attend to. Have some fun, Luka. You deserve it.”
I dip my head in response, my eyes barely registering the blow-job scene in front of me. He’s not forcing them, of course. But could I guarantee the same for my uncle?
My hand signals for another drink, the alcohol slowly heating my insides.
There’s a two drink maximum at L&L, but once again, the rules are bent for me.
I’d like to say Charles respects me, but the truth is, he owes me.
He owes me his life. He was a little fish in a big pond when he opened his club, with only a dream and some startup money.
No connections. Soon, the mobsters came knocking, as we typically do.
He’d be six feet under if I hadn't saved him and his club.
Does he know I bought a sex club? Maybe he wouldn’t even consider it a sex club. He’s not much of a businessman but he loves his business hard enough to have made it a success.
I’m fully bricked up by the time the performing man sprays his cum all over the woman’s tits. There are at least three women eyeing me as the show ends. I could get laid in the blink of an eye, but I’m three whiskeys over the club’s limit. And I respect Charles enough not to break his rules.
So I slump to my car, my dick straining painfully against my pants, slamming the doors harder than needed. The ride passes in a blur before I park in an already deserted parking lot of my club.
I grab a bottle of rakia and fresh clothes from the office and get downstairs.
“You can go,” I say to Marko, and he perks up. I need him on a job in five hours, so it’s only logical I take over now.
Locking the door behind him, I lift the bottle to my lips, chugging a big gulp. My skin is pulled taut as the tension coils in my stomach, ready to burst.
It’s been way too long since I’ve had sex.
My eyes land on Sophie, who is sleeping peacefully on her side, her hair splayed around her. I won’t apologize to her for taking her clothes. I was just trying to be nice. And she sure as hell won’t apologize for trying to escape.
I sigh before taking another sip. I can hardly resent her for it. In her place, I’d do much worse. Still, the image of her in a skimpy top and tight leggings, with fire pouring out of her eyes, can’t be erased from my mind.
Who would’ve thought she was hiding a body like that underneath her men’s section sweats? I thought of her as a couch potato—but she’s the shapeliest potato I’ve ever seen.
“URGH,” I groan, wiping my eyes. I adjust myself in my pants and gulp another sip, bringing the bottle with me to the bathroom.
My head is fuzzy, but I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol to blame, or simply too much blood traded south. Stepping out of my pants and boxers, I take a parting drink before entering the tub. Lukewarm drops of water cool my skin, but they have no effect on the feeling inside of me.
I close my eyes, trying to clear my head, but the only thing clear are the visions of Sophie in my mind. Her toned arms. Her perfect-sized breasts with nipples poking through. Her athletic but full thighs. My hand brushes over my body, but there’s only one place it’s truly needed.
“Fuck,” I mutter, biting into my lower lip.
Finally, I give in and lower a hand to my painfully hard dick. A sharp exhale leaves me as I grip it hard, and start moving my hand up and down.
It’s not like she’ll know it.
My ass cheeks clench as I jerk myself faster, chasing the release I desperately need. And when it comes, when I splatter the tub with thick ropes of cum, the post-nut clarity hits me like a truck.
She’s the girl I’ve kidnapped. I can’t actually be attracted to her. I was just surprised to see her in less clothes than I’m used to. And the drought I’m going through isn’t doing me any good.
Getting out of the tub, I grab the bottle sooner than I grab a towel. The buzz hits me instantly, and it’s a relief to have a reprieve from my thoughts. I dry myself off before chugging another drink, the rakia depleting dangerously fast.
Fuck. I haven’t brought a change of clothes into the bathroom.
I wrap the towel around my waist and step out to grab them quickly. But I’m stopped by the sight of Sophie’s head thrashing from side to side, crying, “Please, no. No!”
My feet inch forward, noticing her cheeks are wet. A loud sigh escapes me. There’s no way I’ll be able to get any sleep if this continues. I climb the bed, approaching her side to wake her up.
“Sophie,” I say, trying to make my gruff voice soft.
Nothing. She’s still trapped in her own mind.
“Sophie,” I say louder.
Still nothing.
I place my hands on her cheeks, stopping her head from thrashing, and practically yell, “Sophie.”
Her eyes open, her lashes fluttering before she freezes in place. Her gaze trails over me, and I feel her swallow underneath my hands. I lower my head, realizing I’m as good as naked, the towel barely hanging on, covering my junk purely through the magic of friendship.
“Fuck,” I mutter, for the umpteenth time today. “You were having nightmares, Sophie. Go to sleep now.”
She swallows underneath my hands once again, before nodding her chin. I release my hands from her face, and she turns away from me. I wait a couple of minutes, waiting for her breaths to turn deeper.
And when they do, a knot inside me unravels, draining me of energy. Suddenly, my eyes are heavy, and my mind is shutting down, the stress and alcohol coming to collect their due. I relax on the comfortable surface, willing myself to stay awake enough to notice if Sophie’s thrashing again.
But she isn’t. She sleeps through the rest of the night, and so do I.